Indeed.
In general this is infact how I make my way through the world. The myriad of oft lamented awkward moments and poorly navigated interpersonal interactions are a direct result of my Quarter-back like approach to life.
But, on the rarest of occasions, the clumsy moments that befall me are in no way my fault. In fact, these rare occasions, over the course of the year, are becoming a lot less rare.
All because I decided to join a band,
I'm not picky about bands because I'm just trying to put myself out there. Rather than take the battering ram approach to music, I actually do practice. A lot. I have found this year that my practicing is in vain however, because inevitably some random occurance befalls me, and only me, making every performance a small adventure and rather than alleviate my stage fright, it has gifted me with a severe case of performance anxiety.
I would like to relate these small adventures to you now.
MY FIRST PERFORMANCE
It was the first time I had ever played publicly on the guitar in an actual band. A friend of mine had been kind enough to allow me to play with her at a small start-up church. I spent hours building my callouses and practicing the simple songs over and over again. When we got up to play, though nervous, the hours I had spent practicing gave me small sense of confidence.
Then the inevitable. The air unit came on and blew a cloud of dust into my eyes. At first I simply saw a dirty film on my glasses so I cleaned while the pastor shared a few words. Then my eyes began to well up with enormous tears. I found that in order to see my music, I had to open one eye long enough to see the next chord then open the other for the one following that. At one point I stopped playing completely and wiped my eyes on my shirt. The people in the audience saw it as a sign that I was touched by the song.
And so that's how it ended. My first performance summed up in a streak of mascara on the arm of my shirt.
.........
From that time, I joined another band and tried another instrument and try what I might, practice as I may, the expected yet unexpected inevitable occurs.
My ongoing shtick is to show up with the wrong chords and to sit at my keyboard looking both dejected and clueless at the same time.
Another time my inner ear sounded like an alien was trying to channel me and so I had to take it out. (FYI an inner ear allows you to hear specific parts of the band while playing and a "click" that keeps you in tempo). Infact, my inner ear never works, inevitably I can't hear myself I am playing or anything at all. At those times I do indeed revert back to my battering ram approach.
With so many minor fails occurring most people would get discouraged, but not I. When it comes to music I am the little engine that could.
This is THE time.....
I just knew this was going to be it. I had all the right chords, we were playing an acoustic set and I had adequate time to practice. I came in knowing that THIS was the time I would not make a fool of myself. Little did I know....
In the midst of practice the keyboard decided to revert to another setting. Suddenly my adequate practicing was for naught. Everything I played sounded completely off and for once, it was not the result of my inadequate musical knowledge. Indeed, I should have determined then that when your own instrument turns against you, you should bow out gracefully and burn your music on the way out.
Not I.
NO, THIS is THE time, take 2!
So this was really it. Despite carrying out the monthly tradition of having no idea what I was doing at practice, I showed up tonight hopeful. I had all the right chords (I tripled checked)., I had adequately practiced and they were all easy songs. I should have taken the fact that someone had used the soft ear pieces to my inner ears and not returned them as a bad sign.
A minor set back but I was not to be deterred.
I should have taken the fact that one of my two inner ears was broken as another bad sign.
But no, I accepted the fact that I would only be hearing out of one ear the rest of the evening.
During the last minute practice my finger starting jamming into a straight position making playing very awkward.
Heard of stretches? Did them.
Yes. this WAS the time!
Just when things were about to start, the shoe dropped, the hammer fell, the cookie did indeed crumble. The bass player casually mentioned he took my seat. My seat! Perfectly positioned to reach the foot peddle, not strain my wrists and keep my music on eye level. In exchange, he left me a stationary, low sitting stool.
I will not deny I was fighting bitter thoughts left and right. I manage to make it through the first song, a rap one mind you, with little difficulty though the finger thing returned and my leg was aching from the awkward positioning of the chair.
Then the other shoe dropped. Suddenly, I could no longer hear the notes I was playing, so I played harder.
They came back. Then they were gone again.
Suddenly it dawned on me, the keyboard itself was malfunctioning Every other chord I played was being muted by some invisible force.
Thats when I lost heart. They finally broke me. That's two keyboards and an AC unit that have turned on me.
Maybe next time my chair breaks, or I get electrocuted by the inner ear or stage light falls on me.
I no longer fear the people, it is the actual performance which haunts me.
No neatly wrapped message at the end of this one. There are no lessons to be learned here. The adventures I alone get to have on the stage leave me with nothing more than questions and a mounting anxiety around musical equipment.
Until I blind myself when one of my guitar strings snaps or I get impaled by a music stand (which, incidently almost happened to my best friend).
That is all.
